"Yeah, we had a deal," John said, and he heard the same echoes Kit did. Only this time, it was different, because this time he had a better answer than 'I'm not perfect.' Seven years had given him that much, at least. "And I broke my promise, and you were right to leave. Just like I told you from the very beginning you should. Remember?"

He straightened up and turned back to her, face set in hard lines. "You remember the day Matt died, Kit? You remember what you told me when I said you should leave me there, go stay safe? 'I'm a big girl, John, I'll take my chances,' you said, but then you didn't. Wasn't til later you started adding conditions, and by that time it was too late. I'd already gone and--"

The words stuck in his throat; it wasn't the sort of thing he said, ever. He hadn't said it then, when it might have made a difference, and it was probably the biggest mistake he'd ever made in his life, which was really saying something. Fuck this, he thought savagely, sick of his own stupid mouth betraying him, and overrode his obstinate insecurities by sheer angry force of will. "I'd already fallen in love with you," he rasped, "and I would have promised you anything, and meant it, whether I stood a chance in Hell of actually delivering or not. I wanted you that badly. And you knew it. So hand me my fair share of the blame, sure, but don't go making like it was all me."